Wash away the Dawn
by Skull Bearer
Summary: The war has taken on a horrible new turn, new enemies have come to the fore and whoever wins, we lose.
1. Wash away the Dawn

_A new kind of war. I got the picture in my head and knew I had to write it._

_I own nothing, the characters are JKR's, the inspiration is Sushi's, the plot is mine and the lyrics are Iron Maiden's.  
  
Stephen Weasley (see '**Farewell'**) makes an appearance.  
  
_**Wash away the Dawn  
**  
_When it all comes down the line  
And the lights they turn to greed  
And you race off with your tyres screaming  
Rolling thunder  
And the people choke with poison  
Children cry in fear  
But you've got your fast bullet  
One way ticket outta here_

_-Iron Maiden, Public enema number one._

__  
Harry crouched down behind the wreck of the car, it was little more than a burnt out husk, at some unknown time in it's past the fuel had ignited and it had exploded into flames, but it would do.  
  
He couldn't let them see him.  
  
Thunder rolled and lighting filled the smoke-blackened sky, it had been raining incessantly for the past few days and the cracked, blasted concrete did nothing to stop the rising mud.  
  
The sun would be rising in a few minutes, although no one would be able to tell the difference with the clouds and smog.  
  
The city reminded Harry of pictures he had seen of London after the Blitz, ruined and burnt down, rubble clogging streets like clots in an artery.  
  
The distant explosions, screams and crashed did little to dispel the image.  
  
It was not the screams so much as the sound of running feet that had caused Harry to seek shelter behind the ruined BMW, that and the flashes of light which kept getting closer.  
  
It had been two years since the muggles had discovered the wizarding world.  
  
One year, eight months since they had declared war of the wizarding world.  
  
One year, four months since the Ministry had been betrayed from the inside and annihilated.  
  
One year, three months since Hogwarts had closed under the muggle threat.  
  
One year since he, Ron, Hermione, their parents and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, those who had survived, had gone into hiding in Grimmauld place.  
  
He'd barely been out since.  
  
The war, from what he could gather from the fragmented news they'd received, was being fought, not by the best fighters in the wizarding world, but by the best killers.  
  
The Death Eaters.  
  
The Aurors were good fighters, but they were Dark wizard hunters, not muggle killers, they'd never been trained for anything like this.  
  
The Death Eaters had stopped their attack on the wizarding world the moment war had been declared, and turned full force on the muggles.  
  
With a crash and screaming curses, the runners and their pursuers raced into the alley where Harry was hiding.  
  
The runners were three members of the Muggle military, their uniforms so torn Harry couldn't make out the regiment.  
  
The pursuers were Death Eaters.  
  
There were five of them, they all still wore their masks and remained anonymous.  
They were screaming in rage and bloodlust, blasting the muggles with curses at every chance. The muggle men were trying to get a clear shot with their rifles without staying still enough to for the wizards to curse them.  
  
One of the masked Death Eaters, who had lost his wand, drew a long, thin bladed knife and flew at one of the men, who raised the butt of his rifle to defend himself.  
  
One of the muggles went down, hit by Avada Kedavra, the other raised his rifle and got on of his attackers, the bullet scouring his shoulder and knocking him down.  
  
The soldier fighting the knife-wielder landed two punches on his opponent before the knife slashed open the back of his had, severing tendons and forcing him to drop his rifle. Lighting flashed again, illuminating the bloodstained steel and the muggle staggered back and the Death Eater slashed with the blade, gutting the man.  
  
The small alley was suddenly filled with the charnel house of blood and excrement. The soldier's horrified shrieks of agony resonated deafeningly as he collapsed on his knees in the filthy mud, blood staining the rainwater red, entrails splattering in the gutter.  
  
The last soldier had his back against the wall opposite Harry, firing his rifle at every opportunity at the Death Eaters. One bullet clipped the side of the car where Harry was hiding.  
  
"_Crucio_!"  
  
Howls of agony.  
  
"_Crucio_!"  
  
Harry clapped his hands to his ears to keep out the ear-piercing noise.  
  
"_Crucio_!"  
  
The soldier flailed about in the mud and rain, limbs twitching and spasming uncontrollably.  
  
"**_Avada Kedavra_**!"  
  
The screams ceased, the alley silent save for the splash of raindrops and the moans of the still-living muggle.  
  
There was a laugh from one of the Death Eaters, and a soft thwack as one of them kicked the dying man.  
  
"Filth." The wizard's throat was hoarse from howling curses.  
  
"You will never win this, muggle," He address the soldier, "Lord Voldemort will have this war and your kind with be destroyed like the vermin you are."  
  
"Finish it Stephan." Another spoke up, voice tired.  
  
"All right Avery, **_Avada Kedavra_**."  
  
The moans ceased and there was five loud pops as the Death Eaters disapperated.  
  
Harry shuddered, wet through and freezing. He'd been sent out to make contact with one of the few who was both 'outside' and on their side, Snape.  
  
Still no sign of him.  
  
Sometimes Harry wondered why McGonagall tried, with Dumbledore dead in the Ministry attack, there really didn't seem to be much hope. Even if the wizards won the war (which seemed very likely), Voldemort wouldn't have to fight for the wizarding world, it would be handed to him on a silver platter.  
  
And if you were someone like Harry, you were dead either way.  
  
Harry stepped out from behind the destroyed car, avoiding the bodies lying broken on the road, before sitting down on the kerb, he'd better wait for a few more minutes for Snape to turn up, useless as it may seem.  
  
Another scream rent the air, evidence of the city war taking place only a few streets away.  
  
The rain came down in sheets, washing away the blood of the corpses.  
  
Washing away the dawn.  
  
_Nasty, nasty, nasty...-laughter-  
  
Skull Bearer. _


	2. Shards of Shattered Glass

_This was meant_ _to be a one-shot, but Dark One convinced me to write some more. Ah, well it is Christmas, I may continue with a few more snapshots from this more bizarre war, but don't hold your breath._

**Shards of Shattered Glass**

_Lost in this place, like fragments of another time  
I close my eyes and see myself from above  
Drifting apart, like splinters of scattered glass  
But we all have our own reasons to continue  
Don't you want it this way?  
Don't you need it this way?  
Don't you love it this way?  
Don't you need it anyway...  
-Kovenant, Stillborn Universe_

Stephan reached into his pocket and drew out a packet of cigarettes, he took one out and tried to light it with his wand, but his hands were shaking so badly he kept missing. Finally Avery took out his own wand and lit for him.

"Thanks." Stephan nodded to the older man.

They were standing the remains of what had once been Charing Cross road. Once busy and bustling it was now empty, buildings in ruins cars burnt out and chunks of stone blocking whole sections of the street.

The rain was coming down hard and the air chilly, Strephan shivered. Water was tricking down the back of his neck and the Dark Mark ached dully on his arm, the emptiness after the adraline rush leaving his feeling tired and dead.

Flashes of the last raid flickered in his eyes, it had turned very nasty, some muggle army regiments had holed up inside the Underground station and they had been charge with flushing them out.

After hiding down there for three days without food or water the muggles had tried to run for it. There had been a very bloody skirmish by the blasted entrance and most had been killed. Stephan now sported a livid, three inch cut across his palm from a desperate attack by a knife wielding muggle.

"Should be over by Samhain." Avery said, staring at the roiling mass of cloud above them.

Stephan choked on his cigarette and laughed, "That's what they say in every war Avery, haven't been right yet."

He pulled down his hood, it was soaked through anyway. The rain plastered his trademark red hair over his face.

"Well, if it is, you're welcome to come to my family house for the festivities."

Troubled blue eyes regarded Avery is surprise, "Thank you Dermon, I'd like that."

"Must have been a while since you had a proper Hallow'ene feast eh?"

Stephen laughed, "Oh yes, you could say that. Not since I left school in fact."

There was a pause.

"I heard about your family, Stephan. They're still alive, we haven't seen them since just after the ministry fell and the muggles have them on their 'most wanted' list so they haven't got them."

"Probably hiding in some hole with Harry Potter." Stephan shrugged.

Dermon Avery smiled, "Probably, haven't heard of that brat for about as long, so much for the 'Saviour of the wizarding world', eh?"

Stephan took a long drag on his cigarette to staedy his still shaking hands and nodded, a wry smile twisting his lips.

Yes, so much for the great Potter...

So much for the Boy Who Lived...

Not for the first time, Stephan felt a pang. He could have been like that. He could have looked up to Harry Potter and Dumbledore like so many did.  
Like his family did.  
It wasn't much of an ache, a vague longing for something he had never had and would never have. He got them occasionally, never enought to sway him from his road.

They both gasped in pain as the grinning skulls on their forearms burnt black.

"Come on them Stephan." Avery pushed himself upright from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "Work to do, muggles to kill, Dark Lords to obey..."

Stephan Weasley laughed softly and followed his brother in arms down the road to what had once been Leicester Square and would now be a battlefield in the raging war.

Shards of shattered glass glittering in the pelting rain from the broken windows above them.

_Skull Bearer._


	3. Spilt Blood and Split Bone

_Dark One- Samhain is another word for Hallow'ene. And yes, you just have to look at the television to understand what has happened._

_Child of the Waves- It gets even darker, thanks for the nice review._

_TwentyDollarBill- This isn't going to be a novel-length story in the conventional means, these are just going to be snapshots through the eyes of different characters, we've had Harry, Stephen and now we're going to have Voldemort.  
I like Stephen too, I always thought the Weasleys were a bit too...perfect you know? A bit too puritan. It wouldn't surprise me if they were hiding a dark secret like young Stephen._

_I own nothing but the plot._

**Spilt Blood and Split Bone**

_Our lives run different ways  
Through the rain I see you in the sun  
Our star shines anyway  
If you wish upon it we are one  
Dog eat dog  
Every day  
On our fellow man we prey  
Dog eat dog  
To get by  
Hope you like my genocide  
-Genocide, Offspring._

Voldemort cursed, wiping flecks of blood out of his eyes. This last kill had been the messiest yet and the blood coated not only the Dark Lord's hands and face, but also the majority of the small room.

The body lay in a crumpled heap at Voldemort's feet, hacked to shreds until not even the man's wife could have recognized him.  
So much for the latest leader of the Muggle forces.

The effort made to protect their latest leader had been puny, although he had to admit the dead-magic machinery had made this latest kill difficult.  
The man (Voldemort hadn't bothered to learn his name) was the latest in a long line of Muggle commanders; all of which, Voldemort was proud to say, had died at the end of his wand.

It was a simple strategy to keep the Muggles from getting any kind of effective leadership.  
When the Muggles started to show some kind of cohesion then the Death Eaters mounted a raid to the nearest outpost and captured the Muggle with the most gold braid in order to force him to give them the name of his new commander.

Then Voldemort just tracked down the Muggle and tore him apart, easy.

Only it hadn't been that easy this time, these new dead-magic machines were becoming a significant threat. He hadn't known, but he'd suspected that this commander would use one as protection. All the same, it had been a nasty shock when he'd spoken the killing curse and nothing happened.

The Muggle had laughed, at least until Voldemort pulled out a bladed falcion and dismembered him, this being the reason for most of the blood.

Ugly kill really, he hoped Snape and young Stephen would get a move on and find a potion or spell to counteract the effects of dead-magic. Find or invent, whatever, just as long as they got it before the Muggles found some way to drag the infernal thing into a battlefield, because then there'd be trouble.

An irritating ache in his right arm reminded Voldemort that he hadn't gotten out of the fight as unscathed as he'd have liked, one bullet had gone clean through, but two had lodged in the bone and would need to be dug out before any healing spell could be cast.

* * *

The most infuriating thing was that he'd known this would happen, he'd seen first-hand what Muggles thought of anyone different, he even had the scars to prove it.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Dumbledore and his Muggle loving idiocies, thinking that they were harmless! Hah!

He'd seen what they could do, he'd traveled to the blasted wastes that had once been Hiroshima, he'd seen the ruined aftermath of their wars, the quick annihilation of anyone not like them, the fear Muggles held for anyone and anything different.  
And when he remembered that this was simply what they did to their own kind, the thought of what Muggles would do if they ever discovered the wizarding world made a young Lord Voldemort feel rather ill.

No, best that they be killed; quickly, quietly, cleanly and without malice or emotion, just two words and a flash of green light. A swift destruction, a Vol de Mort.

And then it was too late, they had discovered the Wizarding world themselves and Salazar Slytherin's warning came true in the most horrible of ways.

He would have liked to have been able to get the chance to rage at Albus Dumbledore but the old fool had died before realizing the magnitude of his folly.

Gods, but what he'd give to get his hands around the man's scrawny neck...

Or, preferably the mudblood idiot(s) who had revealed the Wizarding world in the first place.

Voldemort wondered what had happened to the rest of the Wizarding community.

Most of the Ministry Officials had died in the destruction of the Ministry of Magic of course, although Diagon Alley had been evacuated before the attack. Hogwarts was still standing, though empty and St Mungo's had been moved to Wales where it was filled with the various casualties of war. Many had joined Voldemort's forces while hundreds more fought an anonymous guerrilla war in the back alleys of cities.

As for the rest, either they were dead, or they were in hiding.

The Dark Lord wiped his blade clean on the muggle's shirt, still lost in thought. He wondered where the Aurors had vanished to, in the first few months of the war they had been on the front lines, since then they had all but disappeared. Some, such as Shacklebolt, had joined his forces in all but name. They were after all the only faction of the wizarding world showing any kind of cohesion, what with that idiot Fudge and Dumbledore dying in the destruction of the Ministry. Many Aurors had died in that attack. Other Aurors, the most famous, had realized (quite rightly) that the Death Eaters would attack them on sight and decided to hide somewhere until the war was over.

Voldemort smirked, showing off a gruesome set of serpent's teeth, much good that would do them. If the muggles won, they were all doomed, but if he won, then they were equally doomed.

Still, not his problem. He straightened up, stretching aches out of his muscles and bones. His problem was putting together a battle plan to wipe out the verminous race that were Muggles once and for all and consolidating power afterwards. If he could just keep the Death Eaters together and organized when the war was won (and he was quite certain it would be), then he would have the largest faction in the Wizarding World and no one would be able to oppose him.

Even Harry Potter.

He still wondered what had happened to that brat. His name was still in the list of 'Most Wanted Wizards' on the Muggle list (it was seventeenth on the list. Voldemort's name was first and he took a perverse bit of pleasure in this), so hadn't got him. His Death Eaters would have told him had they killed the boy in order to get a reward, so that was out. Unless the boy had perished in a back-alley attack, he was probably still in hiding somewhere.

Again, not his problem. Not even the most fervent Muggle-lover could oppose his his methods, not now. Not since the Muggles had sent so-called 'diplomats' into the Ministry with several hundred-weight of plastic explosives and succeded in blowing the whole place sky-high.

And what had began as genocide had finished in all-out war. The only good news was that they appeared to be winning. Since the Muggles had no good leader who lasted more than a week they sorely lacked co-ordination and discipline and were quickly splitting into different factions. Much easier for the Death Eaters to pick off.

Divide and conquer, after all.

It was at that exact moment the alarms went off, along with the fire sprinklers. Voldemort jumped, nearly deafened and was soaked to the bone as water started pouring in. He sent the sprinklers one completely incredulous look, then disapparated.

_Skull Bearer_


End file.
